


(when i close my eyes) i dream in colour

by ohprongs



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: AU, BAMF Magnus Bane, Canon-Typical Violence, Criminal Behaviour, Developing Relationship(s), Ensemble Cast, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Garrobane friendship, Inception AU, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-sexual Consent Issues, POV Alternating, Parental Deaths, SHBB18, Shadowhunters Big Bang 2018, Temporary Character Death, parabaTRI
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-25 07:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13829118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohprongs/pseuds/ohprongs
Summary: Twenty years ago, Valentine Morgenstern and Luke Garroway led a team of the world’s best extractors — industrial espionage agents who steal secrets from people’s dreams. Not remotely legal and more than a little dangerous, it wasn’t until Valentine went rogue that Luke and Jocelyn, the team’s architect, decided they had to stop him.The past catches up with them twenty years later. Clary, Jocelyn and Luke’s daughter, vows revenge on Valentine for what he does to her mom, which forces a reluctant Luke back into the field for one final mission to make sure Clary doesn’t get herself killed, too.This last job needs a team of dedicated specialists — and who better to turn to to find them than Luke’s old friend, Maryse Lightwood? She helps Luke put together a team of the finest agents she knows — three of her children, Alec, Izzy and Jace — and, along with rookies Clary and Simon, they’ve nearly got a whole gang. If only someone knew whether the rumours about the world-famous extractor Magnus Bane resurfacing were true...(or, the inception au no one asked for)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> as always, all my love to [elle](http://alecsimon.tumblr.com), who was my beta and cheerleader and fixer of mistakes. [ria](http://alishaawainwright.tumblr.com) was the third person in this trio for the [bang](https://shadowhuntersaumondays.tumblr.com/) and she made [a gorgeous gifset](http://katlisha.tumblr.com/post/172043449873/alishaawainwright-when-i-close-my-eyes-i-dream) to accompany the fic, so please go shower her with love!!
> 
>  **warnings** \- the mature rating has been chosen for:
> 
>   * violence
>   * main character death (with the qualifier that it happens in a dream and is, therefore, temporary)
>   * parental deaths, in line with shadowhunters canon
>   * non sexual consent issues - though this is mostly glossed over in the film, extraction and inception inherently involve going into people’s minds without their consent, which is, at best, morally questionable. is it justified because they’re doing this to valentine/sebastian to stop them doing evil things in this fic? im not really sure. i started writing, went back and forth about whether to abandon the story completely, and eventually continued on the basis that this is a fic where the protags are criminals and i’m putting a warning on so you can decide whether to proceed with reading.
> 

> 
> title from _monochromatic_ by mary lambert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oKAy no one judge me i signed up for the big bang and did actually write 20k!! but i still had two unfinished chapters left by the deadline, so i dropped down to a mini bang (10k). i will be keeping ch2 in reserve while i write the rest - i'm going to try and write ch3 and 4 as soon as possible, but i've just started a new job with a long commute so i rly can't make any promises about when updates will be. please bear with!!
> 
>  **tw:** graphic depictions of violence in this chapter  & brief description of suicide (both happen in a dream). see end notes for full info.

The warehouse is a wash of muted greys, from the concrete floor to the high ceilings lined with cables and industrial lights. There are five reclining seats laid out across the floor, spartan in their decoration. Luke Garroway sits on the edge of one, attention focused on the pocket watch in his hand.

Luke looks up at the sound of a door slamming shut, which reverberates around the entire warehouse. Valentine Morgenstern’s just gone, marching out the room and snapping about a job Luke apparently forgot to do. Luke shuts the lid of the watch and stows it safely in the inside pocket of his jacket, then crosses the warehouse to the seat where Jocelyn Fray is sitting in quick strides.

“Hey,” Luke says, taking her hands in his, “it’s gonna be okay.”

Jocelyn squeezes his hands, her eyes locked on his. “Who are you convincing - me or you?” she asks, mouth tipping up in a wry smile. The slight tremor in her voice is the only thing that belies the true extent of her nervousness.

Luke huffs a laugh through his nose. “Me, obviously,” he says, and Jocelyn smiles before leaning her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Five minutes,” she says, words quieted by his jacket. He puts an arm around her shoulders and hugs her back. “That’s all.”

Neither of them mention that five minutes in real time will feel like longer when they’re down several layers in a dream. Over Jocelyn’s head, Luke catches Maryse Lightwood watching them with an inscrutable expression; when she realises she’s been caught, her eyes dart away, flustered hands moving to check the PASIV device her husband is adjusting.

“Five minutes,” Luke repeats, sighing. He feels Jocelyn nod. “Then it’s over.”

∞

When they wake up in the third and final level of the dream, Luke reflexively checks his totem, pulling the pocket watch out of the zip pocket in his black combat jacket. The second hand ticks clockwise, unremarkable. He steels himself, returns it to his pocket, and helps Jocelyn on with her backpack.

Rounding out their trio, Valentine slings his own pack over his shoulder and then opens his jacket, double checking the gun that’s stashed there.

“Get in, get out,” Valentine says tersely. Beside Luke, Jocelyn nods. “We need to be finished by the time Maryse and Robert set off the kicks above. If you’re not back, you’re getting left here.”

With that, he turns and leaves them alone. In the dark of the night, Luke can just about see Valentine’s figure crouching low as he stealthily makes his way around the perimeter of the grounds of the old colonial mansion they’re in.

“He knows,” Jocelyn says, squinting after him as he disappears into the darkness. Luke sighs heavily and nods.

“I know.”

Together, they make their own way towards the house, staying low and under the cover of the bushes and trees that frame the grounds. The wind whips up, rustling through the bare branches of the trees, an icy chill biting into Luke’s face.

Once or twice, he catches a flash of what look like eyes peering out of the gloom, but he just grits his teeth and tells himself he’s being stupid. There’s no such thing as monsters.

When they’re close enough to the house, they make a dash across the open lawn, then flatten themselves against the wall of one of the downstairs rooms. It’s only one storey, unlike most of the rest of the house, with a large balcony above it instead of a roof. 

Jocelyn has just peeled herself away from the wall when the footsteps resound on the driveway, just around the corner from where they are. She gasps and presses herself up against it again, burying her face in Luke’s jacket. He rests his cheek on the top of her head, heart thundering in his chest as the footsteps draw closer.

They’ve been doing extraction for so long that hiding in the shadows of someone’s mind is second nature to him, but this mission isn’t like any other he’s been on. Not only are they trying to perform inception on someone - planting something in their mind, rather than taking it - it’s the last time he and Jocelyn will ever work with Valentine and the Lightwoods.

His stomach churns as he counts the footsteps coming towards them. He can’t tell whether he’s more nervous about getting caught by the subject of the dream or by Valentine. 

A car door opens and then closes. Luke’s heart hammers against his ribcage. He needs to get himself together. They just have to get this last job done and then they’re gone, out of Valentine’s twisted world, for good. 

The footsteps recede. Luke blows out his breath and then the two of them move away from the wall. 

Luke unzips Jocelyn’s backpack as quietly as he can, pulling out the grappling hook and rope. He paces a couple of steps away, as far as he dares into the open view of the lawn, then tosses the hook up and onto the balcony, tugging till it catches on the ledge. 

Jocelyn pulls on the rope with gloved hands, then nods at Luke. He cups his hands together to make a foothold for her and boosts her up so she can climb the wall; once she’s on the balcony, she tugs on the rope to let him know and he follows her up there.

He crouches down to pick the lock on the balcony door while she packs away the hook and rope. After a minute, the lock clicks and Luke shares a glance with Jocelyn before he eases the door open. The room they come into is dark, but muffled music and a glow of light from downstairs tell them the house is occupied. 

The floorboards creak as they make their way across. Luke’s pulse ticks up, but getting into the building isn’t even the hardest part of the job. They’ve got to make their way to the study at the centre of the second floor, where the subject has a safe. That’s where they’re planning to plant the idea, locked away inside the subject’s mind, but they’ve got to get there first.

They wait by the door of the room for Valentine to trip the power, shutting the lights off in the entire house. A displeased murmur rises from the crowd; some sort of party, if the clinking of glasses and lively conversation is anything to go by. 

In sync, Luke and Jocelyn rush down the landing, light footed but hasty, until they reach the study at the end of the corridor. Jocelyn picks the lock while Luke keeps watch, hand resting lightly on the gun tucked in his pocket in case he needs it.

Footsteps on the stairs make them both pause. Luke grips the gun more tightly, but a familiar chuckle makes him momentarily relieved that they haven’t been caught by the subject’s subconscious yet.

“Gonna shoot me, Luke?” Valentine asks. He sounds amused but he doesn’t spare Luke a glance as he crosses to the study door, nudging Jocelyn aside with his elbow and finishing picking the lock.

Luke doesn’t bother replying. He simply shares a look with Jocelyn and then follows Valentine inside the study when the door swings open.

He stays at the door as a guard while Valentine and Jocelyn crack the safe. The lights flicker back on downstairs to a rowdy cheer, and Luke can’t help bouncing nervously on his feet.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters under his breath.

Shadows appears on the stair wall: a couple of drunk women, stumbling up the steps and giggling as they catch each other. Luke steps back into the gloom of the study as they pass, but he needn’t have bothered. They head into one of the bathrooms without paying any attention to what’s around them and he hears the door lock behind them.

The light pressure of a hand on his upper arm makes him turn.

“It’s done,” Jocelyn says, relief visibly bleeding through her tone. Luke knows it’s not just at the fact that they’ve completed the inception, but that the dream is nearly over.

They wait for the two women to leave the bathroom and then creep along the landing, back out to the balcony. Jocelyn pulls out the grappling hook and rope again, fixing them against the ledge and pulling. Satisfied they’re secure, she looks at Valentine.

“Val?” she asks, tipping her head down to the ground, offering for him to go first.

In the moonlight, his dark eyes flash dangerously. “Ladies first,” he says. There shouldn’t be anything menacing about something so polite, but a shiver runs down Luke’s spine at the look on Valentine’s face as she picks up the rope and lets it run between her hands.

Luke shares a look with Jocelyn as she climbs over the railing of the balcony, letting the rope take her weight. It’s only at the last second that he sees the glint of moonlight off the barrel of Valentine’s gun, and his shout of warning comes too late.

The first shot rings deafeningly loud in the night. Jocelyn’s face creases in pain; her knees buckle with it and she loses her footing, slipping on the ledge and crashing into the railing. On instinct, Luke launches himself at Valentine, tackling him to the ground and trying to wrestle the gun from his hand. 

“Luke -!” 

Momentarily distracted by Jocelyn’s cry, Valentine knocks Luke back with a fierce blow to the head. Luke tumbles off him, rolling to the ground, and Valentine scrambles up, pulling his gun towards himself.

“Imagine thinking  _ you two  _ could double cross me,” Valentine says with a sneer, advancing on Jocelyn. She’s still hanging mid-air and Luke can see her staring Valentine down defiantly, even as the blood spreads from her gunshot wound. At the close range Valentine shot her, Luke knows she won’t be able to hold on much longer.

He takes advantage of Valentine’s attention being on Jocelyn to attack him again, throwing himself bodily at Valentine to stop him getting a clear shot at Jocelyn. Valentine tries to wrestle out of Luke’s hold; the gun goes off once, firing wildly over the edge of the balcony, and then again, the barrel against Luke’s abdomen. 

Pain explodes through Luke’s body, his whole side feeling like it’s burning. He stumbles into the railing, bloody hands clutching at his stomach. Valentine says something again, but Luke’s ears are ringing and he doesn’t pay Valentine any attention, trying to stop himself bleeding out. 

His legs give out and he slides to the floor, falling gracelessly in a heap. He clutches at his side, groaning against the pain, and when the gun goes off again, everything goes black.

∞

When Luke wakes, he’s face down in the surf of a beach, water splashing against his face. He splutters, pushing himself up so he’s kneeling in the waves. His hand drifts down to his left side and comes away clean when he holds it up, making his breath catch.

Luke sees Jocelyn running along the shore towards him and, with shaking hands, pulls out his totem. The second hand is still ticking forwards. Jocelyn reaches him and crashes down beside him, wrapping her arms around him. He holds her while she cries, feeling his own tears roll down his face, salty on his tongue. 

After a few moments, she sniffs, pulls back and wipes her face of tears. Luke cups her cheek with one hand, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“Are you okay?” she whispers. “Not  _ okay _ , that’s a stupid question, but…”

Luke’s throat is still thick with emotion - shock, hurt - but he nods anyway. He thumbs away a tear from her eyelashes. 

“If I could choose to be stuck in limbo with anyone, it’d be you,” he says, with a sad little laugh, and Jocelyn manages a watery smile.

Together they pull themselves up and head away from the shore, walking hand in hand. It’s a twisted mockery of a romantic stroll along the beach, everything they’ve never been able to have before, and Luke feels bile rise in his throat at the realisation. Now that he’s got over the initial shock, his anger at Valentine’s betrayal, the way he was so casual and careless about it, is spiking.

“I guess that’s why he was pushing so hard for inception,” Luke says. He kicks at the sand, sending it spraying across the beach in a way that’s entirely unsatisfying. “Goddamnit! He wanted us this many layers down so he could drop us in limbo - two birds, one stone.”

“We’re going to get out of here,” Jocelyn says, coming to stand in front of him and gripping his arms tightly. The soothing cadence of her voice helps calm him somewhat. “If anyone can do it, we can, Luke. I believe in us.”

Luke closes his eyes momentarily, trying to find the strength inside himself to believe her words - or at least to be able to pretend he does.

“How do you get out of a dream normally?” Jocelyn asks. She drops her hands from his arms and starts pacing. “You have to die, use a kick, or wait for the timer to run down, right?”

Luke nods, trying to let go of his frustration and anger so that they can at least come up with an escape plan. “We can’t die in limbo. If we wait for the timer...it was five minutes in real time. Robert had about two hours in level one, and Maryse a day and a half in level two.”

“Val had a month,” Jocelyn says. “That means we’ve got...two years.”

Luke blinks at this. “So we need the kick, then.”

Jocelyn looks around. “How do we fall when there’s nothing here?”

Luke clenches his jaw, also glancing around them. There’s nothing but sand and sea around them, stretching out for miles. He crouches down, letting the sand run through his fingers; the way it clumps together from being water-drenched gives him an idea.

“We build,” he says decisively, looking up at Jocelyn. “Normally, the architect and the dreamer control the layout together, right? Here, we’re both dreamers. Limbo is just infinite subconscious. We can create whatever we want from it.”

“How do we know when to do the kick?” Jocelyn asks. “Val could already have done his.”

“No, he hasn’t,” Luke says. “The dream layers above us haven’t collapsed yet. We’d have felt it.”

Luke looks at the sand running through his fingers, then closes his eyes, willing it to become bricks and mortar. At Jocelyn’s gasp, he opens his eyes, finding a circular brick tower growing before them. He’s never understood the way people’s minds simultaneously create and perceive the dream environment better than in this moment. 

Jocelyn puts her palm up to the edge of the tower and a door appears under it. She pushes it open with a tentative poke, then holds out her hand to Luke.

“You were right,” she says, lacing their fingers together. Luke manages to smile and follows her up a staircase that’s still being constructed as the tower rises, each step taking them closer and closer to home. 

They’re a way off the ground when the tower starts shaking, causing Luke to miss his footing. Jocelyn grabs onto him, stopping him from falling.

“That’s the kick,” Jocelyn says, brows drawn together and voice threaded with panic. “They’ve already gone.”

Luke nods. “Climb,” he tells her urgently, and together they race to the top of the tower, pulling each other along. They stumble, gasping, through a door that appears at the top. A sea breeze whips Jocelyn’s hair as they stagger, winded from running, onto the platform surrounding the top of the tower.

The tower is crumbling beneath them and Luke doesn’t hear what Jocelyn says as she takes his hand, hair flying around her face. Together they tip over the edge of the platform, falling and falling and then -

It stops.

Luke blinks awake, staring up at the grey industrial ceiling of a warehouse. Immediately he sits up, hand slipping into his inner jacket pocket and yanking out the pocket watch. He flips it open and sags in relief when he sees the second hand ticking backwards. 

Jocelyn’s hand comes around his as she curves herself against his back, her breath warm on his neck.

“They’ve gone,” she whispers. “Valentine, Maryse - everyone. They’ve cleared out.”

Luke looks up from the watch and glances around. The warehouse is deserted, just as Jocelyn said. The only thing left is the PASIV device that had put them under, half hidden under one of the reclining seats where it had presumably been kicked in the group’s haste to clear out before Luke and Jocelyn woke up.

Luke reaches for Jocelyn and pulls her close into a hug, burying his face in her neck. They’ve made it back, but now that they’re safe, the fact that a very different reality could be happening right now hits him. He draws in a shaky breath and closes his eyes.

If Jocelyn hadn’t mentioned the kick, if Luke hadn’t thought of building in the dream, if they hadn’t had each other, if, if, if -

He holds Jocelyn tighter, trying to push away the residual panic and worry flooding his body. They’re safe. They made it back.

“We need to go,” Jocelyn murmurs, a little later. “Whatever that was - a warning, a threat - he’s gonna come after us again.”

Luke nods,  not willing to let go of Jocelyn just yet, as if by keeping her in his arms he can keep her safe. He can see the image of her getting shot clear as day; before he can stop it, his hand drifts down to her side, unbidden, smoothing over unblemished skin. It’s reassuring, but it doesn’t do much to put him at ease. 

Jocelyn tucks her head into the crook of his neck, hugging him tightly. He squeezes her back.  They’d come so close to losing themselves. Luke knows, without a doubt, that they still might if Valentine has his way.

His mind whirrs, trying to run through places where they might be safe. 

“We can stay with my sister for a while,” Luke suggests, and he feels Jocelyn nod against his sternum.  It’s a wisp of a plan, but it’s better than nothing. Though they should really be going, putting as much distance between the warehouse and Valentine and everything that just happened as possible, neither of them move. 

He’d known Valentine would be angry when they left him - his wife and his best friend, almost laughably cliché - and he’d barked and snapped through the dream. But the weight of what Valentine tried to do is incomprehensible; Luke can’t believe Valentine would try to  _ kill  _ them. 

The first attempt might have been a warning, but they both know that there will be another. Another chance for another bullet, one that’s not confined to the dream world. 

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that forces Luke into action. He urges Jocelyn up and they drag themselves from the chair. While Jocelyn scouts the room to find anything they’ve missed, on impulse Luke picks up the PASIV device and stores it away inside its carry case. 

“Ready?” Jocelyn asks. Luke nods, his tightening his grip on the case like a lifeline. He doesn’t know why, but something’s telling him he might need it again someday.

“Ready.”

∞

“Valentine!”

The call shatters the peace in the room, even though it’s slightly muffled by the antique mahogany doors that lead into Valentine’s opulently designed study.  It’s taken him almost two decades of hard work and devotion to his company to build it from the ground up; he deserves a little luxury, with the hefty weight of Idris Automation Systems resting solely on his shoulders. 

Valentine sighs, eyes darting to the doorway as if the interruption is little more than a pesky fly. He returns his attention to the documents in front of him on the computer screen, only to be interrupted by another call and a knock, this time. 

He locks the computer screen in front of him, gaze absently falling on the photo frame he keeps beside the monitor.  The two of them look so young, so full of hope and love - it’s like something from a childhood dream. The Jocelyn smiling up at him - a Jocelyn he knew, once, though not any more -  is in her rightful place at his side . Even after 18 years, the memory of her betrayal still cuts him deep.

Valentine tears his eyes away, not in the mood for sentimentality. 

“What?” he barks, finally answering the intruder. The man - Valentine’s head of information, Hodge Starkweather - steps into the room, a beige manilla folder held under one arm. “I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

Starkweather has the grace to look a little contrite, but his shoulders are still pushed back in surety. Valentine is just about to chew him out for disobeying direct orders when he speaks again.

“It’s Jocelyn,” Starkweather says, one corner of his mouth curving upwards in a malicious smile. Valentine quirks a brow, eyes falling to the photo frame again. “We’ve found her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **tw info:** all in a dream: valentine shoots jocelyn and then luke (the pov character for that section). they both die from their wounds. luke and jocelyn commit suicide by deliberately falling off a building.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's where the present-day action rly starts!! ch1, ft. all our faves. and yes, the end scene is based on [this video](https://twitter.com/HarryShumJr/status/958003446904508416)!!
> 
>  **tw:** offscreen parental death  & mention of luke getting shot.

The corridors at the Brooklyn Academy of Art feel emptier than Clary Fray remembers, though perhaps it’s just that she notices less now. The only things she’s aware of recognising remind her of her mom: the smell of oil paint, the smudges of green chalk pastel on her shirt sleeve, a flash of auburn hair disappearing around a corner. 

Losing her mother is still an open wound. People tell her it will pass with the passage of time, but the few months that have gone by since Jocelyn’s death have done little to ease her pain. 

One of the only respites she has from getting lost in a whirlwind of memories is her art. She wanders absently to her studio, dumping her bag down by a table and rolling up her sleeves. 

There’s a blank canvas on the easel, a set of brushes and pens and chalks scattered on the table. Clary stares at them for a moment and then she’s moving over to the canvas, her fingers itching to pick up the pencil.

Clary starts sketching, the picture coming to life on the canvas. It’s an escape; she’s not sure what she’s creating, but it feels cathartic to just let everything out into her art. She switches to paint, swirling the brushes through different hues and just  _ feeling _ . She loses herself in her art, plugging her headphones in and painting until her back aches from bending over the canvas. 

She pushes herself for another half an hour, then calls it a day. Once she’s cleaned up the studio and turned out the lights, she heads outside to the front of the academy. Luke is waiting for her in his black four wheel drive, lifting a hand off the steering wheel to wave at her.

She throws her bag on the back seat, then hops up into the front beside him.

“Good day, kiddo?” he asks, as they pull away.

Clary hums. “Could have been worse,” she says. “Saw mom everywhere.” 

Luke reaches over to squeeze her hand, and she holds onto him for a moment. Clary doesn’t know what she would have done without Luke; they’ve both lost the person they love more than any other, but he’s been her rock. If it wasn’t for Luke, and Simon, too, she would have been adrift on a sea of grief with no anchor.

“How about you?” she says, releasing his hand so he can change gear. “Was the bookstore busy?”

Luke shakes his head. “Just the usual,” he says. “Getting back into work was good for me, I think. Kept my mind occupied.”

Clary nods. “I know what you mean,” she says. “It‘s like, painting makes me think of mom, but it also means I can just go into my own little world and forget about everything, you know?”

Luke hums and smiles at her, reaching over to pat her arm when it’s safe for him to do so. After a while, Luke turns the radio up and they both end up singing along to cheesy pop songs, their laughter louder than the music. The hole Jocelyn left behind is never gone, but the little moments like this remind Clary that she still has people in her life that she loves and will support her.

“Hey, Simon’s invited us to his band’s performance tonight,” Clary says as they get out the car. “He texted earlier. Apparently the new manager at Java Jones is more ‘open-minded about the local acts they support’ than the old one,” she adds, air quoting around Simon’s words. 

Luke chuckles. “Being open-minded is one way of putting it,” he says. “What time’s the gig?” 

“Eight,” Clary says. “He said he’d pick me up if you get a ride, too.”

Luke agrees to go to the gig and promises not to embarrass her with his dance moves, even as he’s moonwalking from the hallway to the kitchen. Clary can’t help laughing and heads to her room, getting ready for Simon’s performance later.

She changes into a flowy maroon dress with lace accents and pulls her hair back into a ponytail. After searching through her jewellery box and the makeup and brushes scattered over her vanity table, she can’t find her mom’s gold locket anywhere, so she pokes her head around her bedroom door and calls downstairs to Luke.

“Can I check your room for Mom’s necklace?” she asks. Luke tells her to go ahead, so Clary pads across the hallway of their loft towards the room Luke used to share with Jocelyn.

It’s a weird feeling, being in here - it’s lived in, but deathly quiet at the same time. Her mom’s presence is still everywhere in the room, from her watch on the bedside table to the photo of her and Luke on their wedding day hanging over the bed. A half-finished book Jocelyn had been telling Clary about still lies on the royal blue cushions of the window seat, a childish bookmark Clary had made for Jocelyn years ago peeping out from its pages.

Clary grips the door frame, feeling her knees buckling slightly and her breath escaping her. It hits her with such ferocity, sometimes. Her mom’s never coming back and there’s nothing she can do about it.

Once she’s got her breathing under control, Clary takes shaky steps towards the vanity table. She lifts the lid on Jocelyn’s jewellery box with trembling fingers, gently searching through the pieces that lie within. 

It’s still not there, so Clary pulls open one of the drawers in the vanity. It’s filled with old receipts and documents, and Clary’s about to close it and move onto the drawer beside it when she spots a leather bound journal with Jocelyn’s name embossed in gold lettering on the front.

Clary remembers seeing her mom read her journal a few times, but she’d never written in it. Usually, it was when Luke was working late at the bookstore and a much younger Clary was supposed to be in bed; Jocelyn would just sit curled up on the couch and gently turn the pages, a frown etched on her face.

Overcome with curiosity, Clary slips the journal out of the drawer and perches on the edge of the bed, gingerly opening it. The spine is stiff with age, like it hasn’t been cracked open in a few years. Clary’s fingers stroke the yellow pages, trying to make sense of the words and drawings within.

The first few pages are filled with what look, at first, like scribbled spiral doodles, but on closer inspection Clary realises they’re mazes. She traces from the centre with her finger, trying to find the entrance of the maze. They’re scattered over the pages, thick black lines haphazardly crossing over each other, an endless trap.

On the pages after that, there’s more sketches - things Clary recognises from her art modules on surrealism, like Escher and Penrose’s optical illusions - as well as other drawings she’s never seen before, like an engraved ring. 

There are names and notes scribbled by some of the drawings, too; by one, it says,  _ Maryse unsure?? _ , and by another it says  _ check with Val.  _

Clary can’t remember ever hearing her mom mention a Val or a Maryse. She strokes over the drawings, then stands up, carefully cradling the journal in her palms and heads downstairs.

“Luke?” she asks. He’s standing in front of the hall mirror, fiddling with his cufflinks. Clary smiles and rests the journal on the table by the mirror, taking over doing the cufflinks for him.

Luke kisses her forehead. “Did you find Jocelyn’s necklace?” he asks. Clary shakes her head, and she’s just about to mention the journal when she sees Luke’s expression change, from his usual laidback smile to something almost guilty.

“Where did you get this?” he says, picking up the journal. His eyes are glued to the pages, like he knows it’s spilling secrets and can’t look away.

“It was in your room,” Clary says. “What are all the drawings? It’s mom’s, the journal, isn’t it?”

Luke is still blinking at the journal in shock and when he finally looks at Clary, his expression is tight and carefully controlled.

“It was, yeah,” he affirms, putting it back down on the table with enough precision you’d think it was a bomb about to detonate. He closes the front cover of the journal and turns away from it, adjusting his shirt sleeves.

“I used to see her looking at it,” Clary says, stepping towards the table and brushing her fingers down the leather cover. Luke is still looking the other way, though he’s stopped fiddling with his shirt. “The people she mentions, who are they?”

“It’s all history,” Luke says, voice thick with emotion. “We can’t change it now.”

Clary frowns. She crosses the hallway to where Luke’s standing and sees him blinking back tears. Clary’s never seen him like this; he’s always been strong, dependable, and though he feels very deeply and carefreely, she’s never seen him look so sad.

She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, a sound that’s soothed her for as long as she can remember. He sniffs and hugs her back, stroking her hair.

“You deserve to know,” he says, voice rough. “I wanted to tell you for the longest time, but your mom never wanted you to find out.”

“Why?” Clary asks. “What’s so bad about a journal?”

“Not about the journal, Clary,” Luke says, “not really. It’s bigger than that. It’s -” 

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his jaw, and sits down heavily on the bottom stair. Clary perches beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“It was a job we used to do,” he begins. “More than a job - our whole lives. There was a group of us: your mom, me, a couple called Maryse and Robert Lightwood, and...your dad.”

“You’re my dad,” Clary says automatically.

Luke corrects himself with the smallest smile. “Your biological father,” he amends. “He and Jocelyn were just kids, really, when they got married.”

Clary feels a wave of shock wash over her at Luke’s words. In every way that matters, Luke’s always been her dad and she will never think of him as anything else; to hear, for the first time, about the man who’s her biological father, she doesn’t know how to feel. To hear Jocelyn was  _ married _ to him is even more overwhelming. Clary had always just assumed she was an accident from a one night stand or something.

“I didn’t know,” Clary says, voice sounding small.

Luke huffs an unamused laugh. “Like I said, your mom didn’t want you to know.”

Clary tries to take in everything she’s just heard. “What about the job?” she asks, after a pause. “You said it was a job - your life. But you run a bookstore and Mom lectured in art.”

“It was another life,” Luke says, sounding haunted. “Like...a half-remembered dream.”

He smiles without humor and stands up. Clary follows him as he heads through to his study. The room is lined with bookcases, but Luke walks over to one in particular, pulling out a leather-bound journal, just like Jocelyn’s, from a row of many the same.

“You both kept journals,” Clary says, taking it from Luke’s outstretched hand.

“It was our way of documenting everything we were doing,” Luke says, “though Jocelyn used it to design everything and I used it to plan.”

“What were you planning?” Clary asks, opening the front cover and skimming Luke’s spidery handwriting. 

Luke takes a seat at his desk and sighs. “You might want to sit down,” he says, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the desk. Clary blinks at him, sees the seriousness of his expression and the grief in his eyes, and does as she’s told.

She listens, enraptured, as Luke tells her about extraction: the process of sharing a dream with someone to steal information from their mind. It’s a form of industrial espionage, Luke tells her, used to get corporate secrets from people who don’t want to give them up.

Clary frowns. “That sounds really messed up,” she says. “You and mom used to do that?”

Luke shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “We did,” he says. He crosses his arms, wrapping them around himself. “Dream-sharing doesn’t hurt, and more often than not the people we were taking ideas from were awful people. I...guess I decided that the ends justify the means.”

“It’s still -”

“Look, I’m not saying it’s morally right,” Luke says, cutting her off. “It’s definitely not legal. But you wanted to know what the journal was about, so I’m gonna tell you, ugly past and all. Okay?”

It still doesn’t sit right with Clary.  She thought she knew her parents, and now she’s realising that their entire life before her is a complete mystery. No - more than that. A _ secret. _ A past deliberately kept hidden. Clary can’t help wondering if it was out of shame or regret as much as to keep her safe.

She wants to know, though. There might be skeletons in Jocelyn and Luke’s closets but they’re still her parents. 

Luke starts talking again, telling her about the different people in the team: Jocelyn, who was an architect and constructed the dreamspace; Robert, a chemist who made the compound solutions that put people into a deep enough sleep to share the dreams; Maryse, a forger, whose job was to imitate people close to the target of the espionage and manipulate them.

Luke’s tone takes on a sharp, bitter edge as he goes on. “Valentine, your father, he was our extractor,” he says. “He was the leader of the team. I was his point man - it was my job to research the targets, plan out the details, make sure we had everything we needed.” 

Clary narrows her eyes, tracing the grain of the wood of Luke’s desk. “You two must have worked pretty closely together, then,” she says. But Luke doesn’t sound nostalgic, or like he’s remembering an old friend. “What happened?”

Luke looks away, his jaw clenched. “Valentine went rogue,” he says. “We used to be hired by companies and sign NDAs - we were just the messengers. We got them the information and then they used it, but Valentine started keeping the information for himself. A couple of times he took us on jobs where there  _ was  _ no end client; it was just a chance for him to gain information. We only found out afterwards.”

Lue’s face is drawn and he looks older than Clary’s ever seen him. Her fingers twitch against the surface of the desk, wanting to reach out, but she holds herself back. 

“I can feel your judgement from here,” he says, smiling wryly, “but whatever you think of me now, back then, Jocelyn and I realised we had to do something. We had to stop your father.”

The hair on the back of Clary’s neck stands up and she swallows. “What happened?”

“Somehow he found out what we were planning,” Luke says. He grits his teeth, shaking his head as he continues. “We were on a job, several layers down in a dream, close to limbo - unconstructed dreamspace. No one goes to limbo. It messes with your mind, makes you lose all sense of who and what you are.”

Luke wraps his arms more tightly around himself. “If you die in a dream,” he says, the words giving Clary goosebumps, “usually it just acts like a kick and wakes you up. But when you’re in a dream with that many layers, the sedatives used mean you don’t wake up. You fall another layer down.”

“He sent you into limbo,” Clary says, horrified.

Luke rubs his ribs on the left side. “He shot us both - me and your mom. He knew it wouldn’t kill us, of course - it was just a dream. But it was the message it sent, more than anything.” Clary feels her eyes well with tears and she leans across the desk to offer Luke her hand. He takes it and squeezes it.

“I don’t think Valentine was expecting us to pull ourselves back out so quickly. But when we woke up, everyone was gone - Valentine, Maryse and Robert. Things were fine for a while - complete radio silence. But then people started following me home from work; Jocelyn kept getting phone calls at home where the caller hung up straight away.”

“It was Valentine,” Clary says.

Luke nods. “I think it was Jocelyn’s betrayal that made him snap,” he says. “I’m not saying it’s her fault - he’s a monster. But I don’t think he could handle the fact that his wife had fallen in love with someone else. That’s why we had to move around so much when you were a kid.”

“You were running from him.” Clary’s tears spill over and she brushes them away. “And then...and then he finally found mom, so many years later.”

Luke closes his eyes, shaking his head in despair. The pair of them sit silently in the study; Clary loses track of how long they’re there, trying to digest everything she’s just heard. All she knows is Luke’s hand curled protectively around hers and the saltiness of her tears as they roll down her face.

The sound of the door knocker startles them both. Clary hastily wipes away her tears as Luke stands, rubbing a hand over his face and sighing. 

“That’ll be Simon,” he says, heading to the door of the study. He pauses in the doorway, looking back at Clary. “I’m sorry.”

Clary shakes her head, crossing the room to where he is and wrapping her arms around him. 

“It’s not your fault,” she says. He scoffs, and she hugs him tighter.  “It’s not. Valentine killed my mom.” Clary stares at the journal on the desk, heart pounding and a strange mixture of feelings swirling in her chest. 

There’s fury, hurled at Valentine for the pain and suffering he’s caused them, for what he’s ripped from their lives. An odd, small sense of relief, because she finally knows the truth about what happened. Helplessness, because she knows Luke’s hurting, too, and she doesn’t know how to stop it. 

But, most of all, Clary feels an overwhelming sense of grief, for the fact that her mom will never see her graduate college, or get married, or have kids, all because of one man’s twisted sense of ownership. 

Luke eventually lets her go and walks away to answer the door. Clary watches him leave, still feeling weighed down with everything she’s learnt. Her father - in blood only - had her mother killed. What does she do with that, knowing someone so heartless can play with her life without a second thought?

Valentine’s been holding onto that self-righteous anger for almost two decades, unable to let go of the fact that Luke and Jocelyn saw through him, tried to stop him. 

But she also can’t get it out of her head that her mom and dad were a part of that. They followed Valentine,  _ loved  _ him, even. Clary feels sick just from thinking about it. But even in spite of that, her anger and grief spur her on to thinking about how to get back at Valentine. Even though finding out about their past has thrown her off, she knows, deep down, that her parents are good people. Not like Valentine. Never like Valentine.

The sound of Luke and Simon’s voices in the hallway startle her out of her thoughts. She heads out to join them, closing the door to the study behind her, but not before her eyes fall on the journal one last time. There’s no way she’s letting this go and there’s no way Valentine is getting away with it.

This, Clary thinks, is not over yet.

∞

Something painful constricts in Luke’s chest as he watches Clary and Simon bicker playfully, Simon teasing Clary for the amount of sugar she’s adding to her coffee. The pair of them have grown up too quickly before his eyes; he remembers when they barely came up to his waist, tiny kids with knobbly knees and glowing smiles, Simon’s glasses too big for his face and Clary’s hair a shock of bright orange. 

Clary had come to him days ago, saying she’d thought a lot about extraction after what he’d told her in the study, and that she wanted to use it to get revenge on Valentine Morgenstern. Luke had refused immediately, not prepared to return to the world that had caused him so much pain.

He’d thought that would be the end of it, but then he’d lain awake at night, unable to get the idea out of his head, no matter how much he knew he shouldn’t want to do it. Clary’s righteous fury and hurt had bled into his thoughts - not only does part of him agree with her, but he can’t help feeling responsible for her feelings in the first place.

He made the decision to tell her about extraction and he can’t let it take over her life, especially not in such a negative, almost vindictive way. It’s up to him to make sure she’s safe, and if showing her the right way to do extraction and go into dreams is part of that, then so be it.

Eventually, he’d gone up into the attic and found the box of extraction stuff he and Jocelyn had saved, blowing the dust off it and opening it with wary, reverent fingers. 

The pocket watch Jocelyn had gifted him for his 18th birthday was carefully wrapped, and Luke slipped it from its packaging, wiping away a tear as it fell. He turned it over in his hands, opening it gently. It still kept time but, as usual, the second hand ticked backwards. Luke watched it go round, the metal of the watch cold against his palms, realising this was his reality now: a world without Jocelyn. A world where Valentine could get away with killing her.

He’d sat in the attic for God knows how long, just thinking, and then he’d gone to Clary the next day and told her that he’d do it - but only if she agreed to do things his way. 

Luke isn’t surprised Simon’s here now. Inseparable since first grade, Clary and Simon have shared everything, so it’s only right, in a way. Simon was adamant that he wanted to join them, not only to support Clary, but for Jocelyn - she was like his second mom, a constant presence in his life, and he feels the loss acutely, too.

“Luke,” Simon says abruptly, “is Clary allowed this much sugar before we go into the dream?”

Luke chuckles, stirring his own coffee absently. “We’re already in it,” he says mildly. 

The PASIV device was in a dusty carry case at the back of the attic, hidden under a load of old junk. Luke wasn’t sure it would even work after all this time, but it had fired up just as he remembered. Maia had managed to get him a new batch of sedative compound to use, but the chemical she sent was just the same as before. 

As he hooked Clary and Simon up to the device, placing the little nodes on their wrists, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the right thing to do. Now, sitting here in a shared dream, he knows it was. He watches in amusement as Simon’s eyes go wide behind his glasses at what he just heard. 

“Wait, what?” he asks. “We’re already in a dream?”

“We’re in Central Park,” Clary says, glancing around with a slight frown, as if to confirm their setting. She returns her gaze to Luke, looking slightly concerned.

He sips his coffee. “How did we get here?”

“We took the -” Simon starts confidently, before faltering. 

“We took the subway,” Clary says, nodding at him.

“ _ Think _ ,” Luke urges. His gaze flickers between Simon and Clary. ”How did you get here? Where are we now?”

Clary frowns, looking around again, then her eyes go wide. “We’re dreaming?”

Luke nods, sitting back in his chair with his coffee. “The three of us are all at ours right now, sleeping. This is your first lesson in shared dreaming.”

“Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Simon mumbles, looking around the street with new appreciation. “Who are all the people?”

“They’re projections of my subconscious,” Luke says. At Clary and Simon’s disbelieving looks, he chuckles. “It takes a while to wrap your head around it, I know.”

“All three of us are dreaming, though,” Simon says. “So why is it just your subconscious?”

“I’m the subject of the dream, so my mind is the one filling it,” Luke explains. “Clary, you’re the dreamer - you built the world we’re in.”

She blinks at him. As if on cue, the cups and plates on their table start rattling, causing Clary’s startled expression to grow more pronounced. Luke reaches out immediately to take Clary’s hand. 

“Don’t think about it too much,” he says calmly. “It’s in your blood, Clary - your mom was an architect, too.”

“Mom?” she says, voice breaking. The ground starts shaking and Clary squeezes Luke’s hand tightly, looking flustered. “I’m not - I don’t know how to -”

All around them, the ground is still moving. Clary’s breathing grows more erratic beside him and right up at the top of the street a rip appears, like someone’s started tearing a piece of paper. A couple of passers by bump into Clary’s chair; other people eating at the cafe they’re sitting in turn to stare at her. 

Luke watches it with some interest, though he keeps a careful eye on Clary. He’s seen this before with beginners - was like it himself, to start with, so he’s not too worried.

The jagged crack makes its way towards them, splitting the road in half. 

“What’s going on?” Simon says, clearly trying to disguise the panic in his voice as he glares at the people around them.

Luke looks around. “It’s my subconscious,” he says. “Clary’s emotional response has caused the layout of the dream to change and the projections are responding to it, that’s all.”

_ “That’s all?” _ Simon asks, as someone shoves past their table and knocks his coffee cup over. 

“My subconscious knows someone else is creating this world,” Luke goes on, keeping his voice steady. “The more the world changes, the quicker the projections will converge on whoever’s changing it. Clary, I need you to take some deep breaths, can you do that?”

She looks at the tear in the ground with wild eyes, stricken. “I don’t even know how I did it,” she says. “I don’t know how to stop it, I - “

Simon shares a look with Luke, then takes Clary’s other hand, ignoring the crowd that’s started to form around her. 

“Hey,” he says gently. “Look at me. We’re gonna take a breath in, then out, okay? Like you taught me before Rock Solid Panda played in the talent show for the first time, remember? You knew how freaked out I was and you came to find me and got me to breathe. That’s what we’re gonna do now.”

Clary nods quickly, following every word Simon’s saying. With Simon’s help, she gets her breathing back under control, and Luke follows Simon’s instructions, too, hoping it might get his subconscious to back off a little.

The tear in the ground slows a block or two from where they’re sitting. Clary continues breathing deeply, eyes closed, still holding Luke and Simon’s hands, and, slowly but surely, the ground starts knitting itself back together.

Finally, she opens her eyes, seeming more in control. She glances at the people dispersing around her, nibbling on her lip. 

“Sorry,” she says, looking at Luke. 

“Don’t be,” Luke says. “It’s a lot to take in. Thanks, Simon.”

Simon nods at him, thumb stroking over Clary’s hand in soothing circles. “You okay?”

Clary nods, breathing out shakily. “Yeah,” she says. She releases her grip on their hands and takes a sip of her coffee. Then, sharply, “You two didn’t get hurt, did you?” Simon and Luke shake their heads; Clary slumps in her chair. “Good.”

“What if we had been?” Simon asks. “What happens to our actual bodies?”

Luke tilts his head in thought. “Good question. Pain is in the mind, so nothing would _ happen  _ to your body exactly - not visibly, anyway. But, depending on the injury and how traumatic it is, you might remember it as if it happened in reality.”

He can’t help the way his hand drifts to his side, covering the old bullet wound, a phantom ache of broken trust and lost friends. 

They sit in silence for a while, Luke giving Clary and Simon time to recover. After a while, when the street has reverted entirely to how it was before and would fool anyone into thinking they were sitting in the real Central Park, Simon clears his throat. 

“Those, uh, projections,” he starts, gesturing to the people milling around them, “can we interact with them the way they did with us?” 

Luke nods. “Yeah, we can,” he says. “In fact, talking to the subject’s subconscious is one of the main ways to extract information from people.”

“They just tell us stuff?” Clary asks.

“When you’re dreaming, your conscious defences are lowered,” Luke says. “People give up stuff more willingly than when they’re awake.”

A pin drop silence follows his words, as Clary and Simon share a look. Luke is already aware of Clary’s feelings on the morality of extraction, but now she wants to use it to get revenge on Valentine, she seems to have been able to get over it pretty quickly. He’s tried not to think about it too much himself.

Simon runs a finger around the rim of his cup, looking perturbed. Something about his expression tugs at Luke: wistfully, shamefully, he remembers being in Simon’s place - and how long it’s been since he’s thought about the morality of the job he used to do in such black and white terms. 

Valentine had been so charming, so charismatic, quashing any doubts or questions Luke had ever voiced with impassioned arguments and, sometimes, a dismissive wave of his hand.

“If you’re not comfortable with it,” Luke says, seeing his younger self in Simon and wondering how things might have been different, “that’s okay.” With a pointed look at Clary, he says, “Clary won’t pressure you into anything, and you certainly don’t owe anything to me.”

Clary opens her mouth and then shuts it with an audible click. Simon’s still fiddling with the cup, his brow creased.

“It’s like, I  _ know  _ Morgenstern’s a bad dude,” Simon starts, “and I hate him for what he’s done. But if I do this, am I as bad as him? Is it justified because we’re, I don’t know, getting rid of an evil from the world, or whatever?”

“He shouldn’t dish it out if he can’t take it,” Clary says, with an air of finality, but Simon shakes his head. 

“That makes us just as bad as him,” he says. Before Clary, who looks like she’s gearing up to protest, can say anything, Simon adds, “the going into people’s heads part, I mean.”

“Why don’t you take some time to think about it?” Luke suggests. “It’s a big decision - but, whatever you choose, I won’t think of you any differently.”

Simon nods, sending Luke a small smile. “Yeah, I will. I just - I wanna make sure this is the right thing for me, you know?”

After a little while longer at the cafe, Luke takes them around the city and shows them how to manipulate the dreamspace. He knows they haven’t got much longer left in the dream; they’re only down one level, so he lets time play out until they wake up naturally, rather than introducing them to a kick this early on.

Even after all this time, it comes as naturally to him as breathing, but he knows it’s a lot to take on board the first time. Luke also knows that, even with his skill, he and Clary - and possibly Simon - can’t take on Valentine Morgenstern alone. He needs good people, people he trusts to do the job, people who can keep their head and who know what they’re doing so he can watch over his kids. 

Luke watches Clary and Simon try and outdo each other in their little worldbuilding contest. Seeing the two of them together gives him an idea, but he’s not sure how crazy it is. Maryse Lightwood might have been his friend once, but they haven’t spoken in nearly two decades. As good friends as they were, that’s a long time for people to change.

Not that he can blame her for the choices she made all those years ago. She was a good woman - a good friend - that he’d trusted, and he knows first hand how manipulative and charming Valentine can be. She’d had two young children to think about protecting, so he’s not surprised that they stayed under the radar when things with Valentine went down hill.

Luke can touch base with Maia again, too - she might have some suggestions from people she’s seen floating around The Hunter’s Moon. Luke hasn’t been in touch with any of them for years, to keep both him and his family safe, but Valentine’s shattered the peace Luke and Jocelyn had created and Luke isn’t going to let him get away with it this time.

This time, he’s not going to run. He’s sick and tired of running. This time, he’s going to stand and fight.

∞

Luke isn’t sure how he feels as he approaches the Lightwoods’ house. He’d reached out to Maryse a few days ago, calling her to explain briefly about what he was doing and why. She’d seemed delighted to hear from him, which had been a pleasant surprise, and she’d shocked him by inviting him to her house to see him in person. 

He doesn’t know why he changed his shirt three times that morning or put on an unopened aftershave Simon had got him for Father’s Day, but he had. He’s nervous about seeing her again, but excited, too, and he smooths down the lapels of his jacket as he walks up the front path.

The garden is both remarkably pretty and unobtrusive; beds of yellow and orange flowers surround a lush green lawn, all kept within an almost laughably white picket fence. Luke is under no illusion that the image of the perfectly suburban house hasn’t been crafted by Maryse herself, both a protection measure and a way of going unnoticed. 

Luke jogs up a few steps to the wooden veranda. With a deep breath, he reaches forward to ring the doorbell, then shuffles from one foot to the other as he waits for someone to answer.

The heavy door - cornflower blue, with two small frosted window panes - is eventually opened after what feels like an eternity but, in reality, is probably only a minute, at most. A young woman is there, smiling widely at him, with deep brown eyes and a smart white blouse leading into a pair of tailored trousers. 

She looks so much like a young Maryse that Luke has to shake his head to clear it, barely remembering to introduce himself. He holds out his hand.

“Luke Garroway,” he says. 

The young woman shakes his hand, still beaming. “Isabelle Lightwood,” she says, “but you can call me Izzy. Mom’s in the back - let me take you through.”

Luke thanks her and steps over the threshold, wiping his feet on the doormat as he goes. As they pass through the hallway, he catches a large canvas print of Maryse and Izzy with two young men and a teenage boy. He assumes the oldest dark-haired boy is Alexander, who was just a young kid when Luke and Jocelyn escaped Valentine’s wrath, but doesn’t recognise the blonde guy or the teenager. 

He also notes, with some interest, that Robert doesn’t feature anywhere in the photograph.

“Mom said you two are old friends,” Izzy says pleasantly, turning over her shoulder to look at Luke. Luke nods. 

“Yeah, we go back a long way,” he says.

Izzy hums. “Are you an extractor, too?” Luke’s eyebrows shoot up, and Izzy sends him an amused smile. “You didn’t know Mom taught us about extraction, I take it?”

Luke shakes his head, smiling slightly himself. “No, I didn’t. I thought I’d left it all behind a long time ago.”

“What changed?” Izzy asks curiously as she opens the french doors to the garden. 

Luke smiles sadly. “My wife died.”

Izzy looks over at him, expression full of shock and sorrow. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You didn’t know,” Luke says, and she sends him a sympathetic smile. He follows her out into the garden, catching sight of Maryse Lightwood for the first time in 18 years.

She’s laughing at something with Alexander, her smile radiant in the spring afternoon sunshine. Her black hair falls down her back in loose waves, and her face brightens when she looks over and sees Izzy and Luke.

Maryse stands up from her chair, looking a little flushed as she smiles at the pair of them. “Lucian,” she says, striding over to them and clasping Luke’s hands in her own, “it’s wonderful to see you again. I see you’ve met my daughter, Isabelle.”

Luke nods, unable to stop the smiling rising to his face at the sight of his old friend. Any awkwardness between them melts away as he catches the hopefulness lighting Maryse’s eyes, and he squeezes her hands. Izzy clears her throat from beside them and Maryse startles, dropping Luke’s hands.

She gestures to the chairs arranged on the grass. “Please, come and sit.”

Luke takes a seat in one of the empty chairs, not missing the conspiratorial look Izzy and Alexander share while Maryse sits down again.

“Hey,” Alexander says, nodding at Luke. He reaches out to shake Luke’s hand once Luke’s got comfortable. “Nice to meet you. I’m Alec.”

Luke smiles at him, shaking his hand. “Last time I saw you, you were this high,” Luke says, gesturing a short distance off the ground. Alec huffs a short laugh and ignores his sister, who coos beside him. “I’m Luke. It’s good to see you.”

“You didn’t tell us we’d met Luke before,” Izzy says to Maryse, who rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“That’s a bit of a stretch,” she says, “considering you were only 18 months old.”

Izzy shoots her mom a fondly irritated look. Alec chuckles and offers to pour Luke a drink, which he accepts with a nod. Maryse watches Luke for a moment, then sits up a little straighter, her expression sharpening.

“So, Lucian,” she starts, and Luke holds up a hand genially.

“Luke, please,” he says, and she corrects herself with a smile. Luke takes the glass Alec hands him with thanks.

“Luke, you mentioned needing a team, on the phone,” Maryse says. She nods to Alec and Izzy with a proud smile. “I promise you, I have no finer extractors for you than my children.”

“Izzy’s the best chemist in the country,” Alec says, beaming at his sister. “She’s our architect, too.”

Izzy smiles, clearly pleased. “Our other brother, Jace, is our extractor,” she tells Luke. “But I guess you’d be taking the lead, if it’s your team?”

Luke nods. “And you, Alec?”

“Point man,” Alec says easily, then, with a glance at Maryse, “and forger.”

Luke hums knowingly. “Just like your mom.”

“I learnt from the best,” Alec says, shrugging easily. He takes a sip of his drink. “So, is this a job interview?”

Luke laughs slightly. “Not exactly,” he says. “I don’t doubt that you’ve got the skills you say you do. But this job, it’s…” he sighs. When he looks at Maryse, she sends him a soft smile. “I’m doing it for my daughter, an 18 year old kid who’s just lost her mom.”

“It’s personal,” Izzy says quietly, and Luke nods. 

“The stakes are pretty damn high on this one. I’m old enough and wise enough not to let that get in my head too much,” he says, “but for Clary? If you want to work with me, you need to know that it’s not just in and out. I need help training Clary and her friend, Simon, and I need to know I have reliable, experienced people who have my back when we’re in the dream.”

“Reliable is Alec’s middle name,” Izzy says, and then her lips twitch into a smirk, “and I’m  _ very  _ experienced.”

“Iz,” Alec laughs, rolling his eyes. Luke smiles at the siblings and then turns his focus to Maryse, who’s watching him carefully. 

“Will you be part of the team, too?” he asks. She blinks at him, then her eyebrows furrowed together. “You don’t have to come into the dream,” Luke adds, “but if we’re all going under, we need someone we trust to look after us.”

Maryse’s brow smooths out and she smiles. “I’ll think about it,” she promises, and Alec and Izzy nod.

“I’d give you more details,” Luke says on a sigh, “but there really isn’t a plan at the moment.” Alec’s eyebrows shoot up and Luke’s mouth tips into a smile at his panicked expression. “If you’re open, I’d appreciate your input. I need to visit one more person, but if he agrees to join us, I can get the whole team together and we can come up with something.”

Izzy and Alec share a look, then they both turn to Luke. 

“Just name the time and place.”

∞

It’s almost impossible to miss Magnus Bane in a crowd. Luke spots him straight away at the end of the bar, talking animatedly to Maia about something. His brocade jacket is a rich wine red that shows off the sharp lines of his shoulders, his black hair spiked and the ends tipped with gold. 

It’s been months since he last spoke to Magnus, but whenever they see each other, it feels like nothing’s changed. 

They’ve been good friends for many years. Magnus was young and cocky when he ran across Luke for the first time - now he’s a little older and a lot more self-assured, with the experience and style to back it up. Luke knows Magnus’ history with the dreamworld, and he can’t help but be impressed about how much Magnus taught himself and just  _ how  _ good he is at the job when he does it.

Luke surveys the room and finds, unsurprised, that he’s not the only one paying attention to Magnus. The person he’s most concerned with is slouched in one of the booths at the back of the bar, a half empty pint glass in front of him. He has long straggly hair and his eyes dart to Magnus seven times in the time it takes Luke to stroll along to Magnus’ seat and make himself comfortable on the bar stool next to him.

“You have an admirer,” he says lowly to Magnus, who doesn’t startle in the slightest. Maia’s lips curve into a smile and she nods at Luke in greeting. 

“I have many,” Magnus says, with the hint of a smirk. “But I believe the delightful man you’re referring to is Rufus.”

Luke half smiles and asks Maia for a drink. 

“Does Rufus work for someone?”

Magnus takes a sip of his martini. “Rufus works for anyone for the right price,” he says, unruffled.

“I heard his latest employer might be the Seelie Queen,” Luke says.

“A terrible nickname.” Magnus finally looks at Luke, a true smile taking over his expression as he surveys him. “You know better than to believe everything you hear, Lucian,” he adds.

Luke tips his glass in acquiescence. “Some rumours deserve more consideration. Especially those involving threats to my friends.”

Magnus raises his glass in a toast at Luke’s words. Maia joins them again, bringing Luke’s beer, which he accepts with a smile and then hands her over a tip. 

Maia lingers on the pretence of picking up some empties. 

“How’re you doing, Luke?” she asks. 

“Holding up,” he says honestly. The loss of Jocelyn is a still a raw wound, and he knows Maia well enough to know he won’t get away with bullshitting her. “It gets a little easier every day, but it’s never easy.”

Maia nods. “We’ve missed you,” she says. She looks him over, as if double checking he  _ is  _ alright, and then nods to herself. 

When she’s gone, Luke clears his throat as Magnus sips his martini. 

“So: your last employer.”

Magnus raises one eyebrow. “I may have some unfinished business with the Queen,” he admits, playing with the stem of his martini glass. 

“Is it the type of business you can go back and finish?” Luke asks bluntly. “There’s a price on your head, Magnus.”

Magnus hums. “Life is terribly boring without a little danger.”

Luke sips his drink, a bitter smile rising to his face. “Life without danger means you stay safe.”

Magnus’ expression loses any amusement it had, his eyes softening. “I heard what happened to Jocelyn,” he says, covering Luke’s hand with his own. “I’m truly sorry, Luke.”

Luke nods, trying to chase the lump in his throat down with a gulp of his beer. 

“How’s Clary doing?” Magnus asks. 

“She’s…” Luke hesitates. “You know, the one big disagreement Jocelyn and I always had was whether or not to tell Clary about extraction. I thought she deserved to know as she got older, but Jocelyn wanted to shield her from it all - and Valentine.”

Magnus nods. “I know it wasn’t easy for you, raising her in hiding.”

Luke sighs. “It wasn’t,” he admits. “But she knows now. She knows Valentine targeted Jocelyn deliberately and she wants to get him back.”

Magnus’ eyebrows shoot up. “She wants to kill him?”

Luke traces a finger through the condensation on the side of his beer glass. “I’d be lying if I said no,” he says tentatively, “but she’s young, she’s just lost her mom. I don’t think that threat was serious.” He pauses, licks his lips. “What she  _ was  _ serious about was wanting to destroy his business with extraction.”

Magnus fiddles with the martini stirrer in his glass, clearly thinking as he pops the olive from the end of it in his mouth. 

“She’s got a plan?” he asks.

Luke snorts. “She doesn’t even have a team.” Magnus smiles. “I told her I’d do it - one final job. To get him back for what he did. But she has to play by my rules, which means working with whoever I choose.”

Luke lets the unspoken question bumble along in the air for a moment. Magnus purses his lips and returns the stirrer to his glass.

“I reached out to an old friend who helped me find good people to work with, but they’re kids. I need a point man, Magnus. Someone I can trust.”

“And yet you’re here asking me,” Magnus says, grinning. “At least, I assume that’s what you’re asking.”

“I am,” Luke says, regarding Magnus seriously. “One job. No plan. Two rookies on the team. What could go wrong?”

Magnus laughs. “Well, it’s potentially preferable to her Highness interrupting my cocktail nights on a regular basis.”

“You’ll think about it?” Luke asks, surprised. In all the years he’s known Magnus, they’ve never actually worked together - Magnus dips in and out of their world, and Luke thought he’d left it all behind for good. He was expecting Magnus to put up more of a fight.

“My schedule is pretty open right now,” Magnus says with a shrug. “Besides,” he adds idly, playing with the stirrer in his martini glass, “I don’t know whether that price on my head was dead or alive.”

Luke tries to appear very interested in the liquor selection behind the bar to stop himself glancing back at Rufus. “Me either. Let’s see if he starts shooting.”

“He better not start shooting in my bar,” Maia does, sliding into view with a cloth in hand as she wipes down the surface of the bar. Luke chuckles and Magnus’ lips tip up into a smile. 

“Perhaps you should vett your clientele more thoroughly,” Magnus suggests. 

Maia shoots him a wholly unimpressed look. “Then you’d be out on your ass, wouldn’t you, Magnus?”

Magnus laughs loudly. “You wound me,” he teases, and Maia rolls her eyes, though she’s smiling. 

He glances around at Rufus and then back to the bar. 

“I’ll take the trouble with me, my dear,” he promises, sliding her a few bills’ tip and then draining the last of his drink. He looks at Luke. “Shall we?”

Luke nods. “Night, Maia. And thanks.”

“Take care,” Magnus says to her, then slips gracefully off his stool and straightens up his smart brocade jacket.

He scans the crowd, a nonchalant tilt to his chin, before spinning on his heel and striding out the front entrance of The Hunter’s Moon. Luke lingers for a moment, sharing a glance with Maia, and he waits until he feels someone brush past him before he stands up himself. 

With a nod at Maia, he exits the bar, too, following Rufus with an ease he doesn’t feel. He tries to slow himself down; he doesn’t want to make the wrong move because he’s too on edge and alert Rufus to the fact that he’s there.

Up ahead, Rufus is gaining on Magnus. He reaches him with two large strides, grabs him by the shoulder to spin him around and punches him across the face with a left hook. Magnus stumbles but quickly rights himself, dropping into a low fighting stance and elbowing Rufus in the stomach. 

As Rufus doubles over in pain, Magnus slams the heel of his hand into Rufus’ face and uses the distraction to get a hand around the back of Rufus’ neck, shoving him bodily to the floor. Magnus rifles through Rufus’ pockets until he finds what he’s looking for and straightens up. 

When Luke reaches him, Magnus is inspecting the gun he’s just taken from Rufus with slight disdain. 

“I guess the price was dead, then,” he remarks, and Luke rolls his eyes. 

“Come on. Let’s get out of here before -“

The blow to the head takes him by surprise, body jerking forward and a winded noise being punched out of him. Luke staggers, and Magnus steadies him for the briefest moment before he has to fight off an attacker of his own, the men seemingly appearing out of nowhere. 

Luke runs at the guy advancing on him, kicking him in the chest and sending him sprawling before dodging several punches from another guy. He jabs the man in the throat and then punches him in the stomach, then pushes him out the way. 

Beside him, Magnus pivots gracefully on the ball of his foot, ducking under the arm of his assailant and then matching him blow for blow, holding the attacker at bay with lightning reflexes. He’s light as a boxer on his feet but his sheer strength means it doesn’t take him long to get the guy dropping to the floor, writhing on the ground in pain.

Luke’s fighting two guys on his own, both of them trying to back him against the wall. He pushes off from it and uses the momentum to pack a punch that takes one down, then elbows the other in the face. 

Momentarily, he and Magnus share a glance. It should be triumphant, but the hair on the back of Luke’s neck stands on end and from the corner of his eye he sees the guys they’ve fought dragging themselves up from the ground.

In wordless agreement, Magnus and Luke come together, back to back, keeping their eyes on their attackers.

With a yell, the first attacker comes at Luke with a left hook. Luke uses his hand to slam the attack away, already ducking and weaving away from punches thrown by another assailant. He keeps the two of them at bay, kicking and punching and dodging. 

Their assailants take longer and longer to come back when they’re knocked down and Luke almost thinks that they stand a chance of winning when, out of nowhere, another man charges them and tackles Magnus, arms around his hips. 

Magnus throws him off, holding the guy’s arms down and kneeing him in the face, before sending another guy flying backwards with a powerful kick to the throat. He jumps on the first guy, wrapping his legs around him and, with their newly unbalanced weight, pulling them both down to the ground. Using their momentum Magnus rolls them, kneeling over him and punching him in the face. 

Luke catches his eye and Magnus shrugs, grinning easily. Luke’s rolling his eyes when he hears a shout - he turns to see a guy racing towards him. He side-steps out the guy’s path and grabs his wrist, then curves his hand around the back of the guy’s neck to push him into the nearest wall. 

Both panting heavily, the two of them survey the bodies lying on the floor around them. Magnus wipes the back of his hand across his face, eyes flashing, and he’s just about to say something when Luke spots movement up ahead at the end of the street. 

“We’ve got company,” he says, eyes widening at the pack of men sprinting towards them.

Magnus sighs, glancing at the unconscious bodies surrounding them. “Run?”

Luke nods, already backing down the alley. “Race you.”

The pair tear off down the street, back past The Hunter’s Moon and away in the opposite direction. They’ve not been running for long when the first shots are fired; Luke ducks on instinct, shielding his head with his arms. 

“If I join your team,” Magnus shouts, a little out of breath, “what are my odds of being shot at?”

“I can’t make any promises,” Luke yells, “but much better than right now.”

They reach a low wall that’s crumbled in some places and vault over it with perfect timing. A shot hits the bricks behind them, releasing a cloud of dust. Magnus looks back, eyes wide, and then he turns to Luke. 

“You’ve got a deal,” he says. “I’m in.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr @[katlisha](http://katlisha.tumblr.com) and twitter @[lukegarroways_](https://twitter.com/lukegarroways_)!!


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